


Professor Will and Young Hannibal Ficlets

by TaeAelin



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-17 00:33:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5847019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaeAelin/pseuds/TaeAelin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will is a University Professor. Hannibal is a second-year student. A small collection of things that happen along the way.</p><p>Morning Coffee | Fencing Practice | A Walk in the Rain | North by Northwest | Dance at the Disco | A Midsummer Night's Dream | Between the Lines</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Morning Coffee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jhonni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jhonni/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [sweetsodasparkles](http://sweetsodasparkles.tumblr.com/) also sketched the most lovely fanart for this university!au, which you can see in the original tumblr post [here!](http://taeaelin.tumblr.com/post/138630996756/professor-will-young-hannibal) Thank you so much, I adore it! <3 <3

Will rounded the track past the boat sheds, files and coffee tucked stiff to his chest, footsteps clipped as his stare. If he had guessed the student would be there again, he didn’t wish to acknowledge it. Similarly, the student was content most days to pretend he hadn’t seen Will either.

It wasn’t most days.

“Good morning, Professor Graham.”

The youth had gathered himself from the lakeside bench in barely a few strides, light on his feet, taller than Will expected; now that he was close enough to tell. He kept Will’s pace, looking much the part of a staff member himself, tailored shirt and blazer cutting sharp against the breeze.

“Morning” Will flicked him a glance.

Hannibal swallowed it whole.

“I wanted to thank you for your lectures” the student continued. “In particular, _Profiling- Future Directions_ has been of great interest to me, and the perfect supplement to the groundwork covered in _Psychological Research Methodologies 2B_ ”

So he was a sophomore. Had it been anyone else, Will would have passed it as a swing for leniency on an essay. But the youth wasn’t actually enrolled in his class. Will fumbled with his coffee cup, almost spilling the dregs of it over his papers. When he took a last grimacing sip, he almost wished he had.

“Thank you…”

“Hannibal.”

“Thank you, Hannibal.” Will nodded; a quick, curt little gesture, their eyes meshed intangible above. “I hope I’m not taking too much time away from your core subjects, though. Second year starts slow, but it can sneak up on you, believe me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Professor.” The youth reached for his satchel, long fingers tugging out a crisp document binder. “Meanwhile, I thought to compose a short response to the question you posed at the end of our last seminar.”

When Will made no move to collect the paper, Hannibal offered his arm for the files and laptop. They seemed to be slipping further and further out of Will’s grasp with every step.

“-If it’s not an imposition to you, that is.”

Lobbing the empty coffee cup into the nearest trash can, Will managed to rearrange his particulars himself.

“This won’t count for an extra credit, you know.”

“I certainly hope not.”

Glad for the wind blowing cool at his cheeks, Will stretched the armful of work in Hannibal’s direction. Hannibal added his folder to the top of the pile. Through the translucent cover, Will could just make out a thin copperplate scrawl. He couldn’t remember the last time a student had submitted a response handwritten. At the very least, he was curious.

At the very most…

“I’ll try to give it a read some time before Friday” Will cleared his throat, directing the comment somewhere into the distance.  “And let you know what I think after class.”

“I look forward to it.” Hannibal sounded genuine. A fraction triumphant, if anything.

“Well, I’ll catch you tomorrow then.” Will bit his tongue as he heard the words leave his mouth. I’ll catch you _on Friday_ , was what he intended to say.

“Indeed” Hannibal agreed, continuing without a missed beat. “Same time by the boat sheds tomorrow. I might bring your coffee for once though, if you don’t mind. I roast and brew my own, in my lodgings.”

“I do mind.”

“I’ll bring it regardless.”

Hannibal gave the slightest dip of his head in parting, heading for upper campus as Will steered a path back to the central lecture block.

Will waited until the student was out of sight, then checked his watch. Five minutes until his next class. Balancing his belongings between his waist and his arm, Will stopped clear in the middle of the walkway, opening the folder.

Somewhere inside the pages, Hannibal was staring back.

-


	2. Fencing Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was co-created with [Jhonni.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Jhonni/pseuds/Jhonni) Thank you so much for everything <3

Will hadn’t seen the student, not for days. Shaded glances toward the back of his lecture theatre didn’t count- plenty of latecomers sat up at the exits, you can’t just teach to the front row. If he felt the familiar, pooling stare at his neck every time he turned back to the projector slides, it was just a sign he held their attention for once. Nothing more.

He’d arrived to class on time, packed up his notes and left just as quickly on the hour. Any questions, they had his email. He walked heavy toward his office, taking the path past the Chancellery instead of cutting through the Quad. The route he took when he needed to think.

Except he didn’t think. He stopped. And turned around.

From the narrow courtyard below, he could hear the click of metal, the rush of fabric grating swift on protective padding. That frenzied, hollow silence, when commentary falls to the wayside and not even the instructor dares interrupt.

The University Fencing Club.

Will chased the stairs down a level. The practice circle didn’t widen, not one of the team even registered his arrival. All eyes were fixed on the match playing out in front of them, the duel of white and silver and speed. Will had never seen anything like it. The moves were hard, angular. For a sport that often drew a likeness to dancing, Will couldn’t have found it more vicious.

Nor more corporeal.

A figure fell. The other shadowed over, foil pointed at his throat. Hands raised to surrender. Hannibal stepped aside, hair dusted over his eyes as he pulled back the mask. Will couldn’t have moved if he’d wanted to. He was as cornered as the fallen opponent, caged as much by fascination as some foggy sense of desire.

No. He was impressed. That was all. He appreciated talent when he saw it, gave credit where credit was due.

Hannibal’s delight was unbridled. He registered no surprise on seeing Will standing there. Will allowed himself wonder whether he knew the whole time.

_Of course he didn’t know the whole time._

Tossing his fringe back, Hannibal tucked the mask under his arm as he approached. There was no hesitation in his gait, no care for his teammates and the coach staring.

“You came” he grinned, slightly winded. As if he’d told Will where he’d be, which of course he hadn’t.

Will thought to hold out his hand. If he wished to blame his presence on the spontaneous detour, some need to search for a lost watch, a late paper, a conversation with the instructor…

The excuse was long gone by the time he met Hannibal’s stare.

And tarried it with a crooked smile.

"Yes. Made it this time."

-


	3. A Walk in the Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [samui_sakura](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sammie_s43073/pseuds/samui_sakura) also made an adorable photo-edit of this snippet, which you can see [here!](http://taeaelin.tumblr.com/post/138980131411/samui-sakura88-taeaelin-i-made-you-this-for) 8>>

Will liked to finish his last lecture of the day with a bang. But on this particular evening, the storm beat him to it. Will scraped the last of his uncollected handouts into a manila folder, purposefully slow in case the downpour chose to grant him an unlikely favour.

There were never any favours in teaching.

Wedging his laptop inside his jacket, Will folded his glasses to the breast pocket too. It would be a long jog back to the staff carpark, and neither would be much use to him soaking wet.

He locked the seminar hall doors behind him, the campus blurred by mist and rain ahead. A lone figure cut across the dark, the hazy lines on his umbrella reminiscent of the University Crest. As the silhouette took on a more familiar shape, Will realised it _was_ the University Crest. The traditional emblem, obsolete since the institution rebranded several decades ago. It was certainly never printed on any umbrellas.

And yet, Hannibal had one.

“Good evening, Professor Graham.” The student stepped beneath the sheltered archway. “This weather just seems to sneak up on us these days, doesn’t it? I thought you might be in need of a chaperone.”

He hadn’t seen Hannibal in class. _Not that I should have_ , Will reminded himself. The sophomore wasn’t technically enrolled in _any_ of his classes.

But he attended an awful lot of them.

“You might be right” Will allowed, which granted enough encouragement for Hannibal to move beside him. “Very kind of you to stop for me, given you must be in a hurry to get back to your lodgings.”

Hannibal hovered the umbrella, knuckles grazing Will’s jacket sleeve. “Not at all, Professor. I was already at my lodgings when it started raining. Very suddenly too.”

“Well.” Will hugged his jacket tighter around his shoulders, stride lengthened as they skirted a puddle. “Doubly kind of you, then.”

Gaze licked toward the gesture, Hannibal held the umbrella a little closer.

“Would you like to borrow my coat? It can get a little chilly here in the evenings, with the wind rising straight over the lake.”

“What? No.” Will hadn’t meant to sound quite so surprised.

“I’m perfectly warm, I assure you.”

“No. Thank you.” Will corrected, not entirely ungrateful for the offer. But it wasn’t too much further to walk, and they were only heading to…

Wait.

Where _were_ they heading?

Retrieving his glasses, Will inched them over his nose, the dusty dark sliding back into focus. Tracking to the left, he gathered his bearings at the sight of the biomedical labs, the northern auditorium just beyond. Without the milling smokers nor backpacks sprawled on the lawn, the structures loomed wide and desolate, gothic architecture bleeding damp into the sky.

“My lodgings are just beyond the fringe.” Hannibal inclined his stare toward the line of carefully groomed trees. “I could make you a hot drink before you set off home.”

The thought of his empty thermos and wilted pack of chewing gum waiting for him in the car seemed ever more miserable in comparison.

“I’d better not” Will swallowed, a thumbing weak tap to the back of his folder. “These papers won’t mark themselves.”

They stopped beneath the entranceway, the alumni plaque glowing smooth between them. Will could have sworn the north-side colleges only accepted Postdoctorals. But voicing the question felt too personal. He compromised with a nod to the engraved list of patrons.

“I appreciate the invitation though.”

“I insist you take my umbrella then.” In a single swift movement, Hannibal closed it, simultaneously flicking it free of gathered droplets. “Just in case.”

At some point while they’d walked, it had stopped raining.

Will hadn’t even noticed.

“Ah. Thank you.” Will closed his fingers at the wooden handle, still cool despite Hannibal’s touch. “I’ll be sure to return it tomorrow. Do you have another?”

“I have several” Hannibal confirmed. “So please consider it a gift. A poor one, but perhaps it’ll come in handy.”

It took Will several steps backward before he managed to turn away. A few more before he looked back.

“You have several.”

Hannibal gave a reassuring dip of his head.

“But you only brought _one_ , to come and fetch me from my lecture.”

Hannibal blinked, mouth creased at the corners. But his tone didn’t change a note.

“Correct.”

-


	4. North by Northwest

The overnight train hummed against the window, and Will rearranged his folded jacket yet again. It was the usual predicament- too much to do to stay awake, too little to sleep. He should really be going over notes for the guest lecture tomorrow. Yet when he reached into his satchel, his hand navigated to the crumpled book of poetry instead. It had seen more long journeys than Will could remember taking, no love lost between them.

Steering his shoes against the velvet seat opposite, Will had barely pulled back a dog-eared corner when the knock came at his private cabin. Jerking his feet down, Will swallowed on an apology, the staff member far too polite to acknowledge it.

His arm balanced a silver tray and brandy.

“A nightcap for you, sir. Compliments of the young gentleman in cabin seven.”

Frowning at the glass placed in front of him, Will hadn’t quite licked the question on his lips before a blotting card was set down beside. The script swept thin and embellished, not a drop of fountain ink lingering at the corners. Will would have recognised it anywhere.

_A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:_   
_Its loveliness increases; it will never_   
_Pass into nothingness; but still will keep_   
_A bower quiet for us, and a sleep_

The card clenched between his thumb and knuckle, Will could only blink. How on earth had Hannibal known he would be reading Keats tonight? Will glared at the worn book beside him, almost accusing. And then he realised the server was still by the door.

“The gentleman seemed taken with the idea that you may wish to convey a response.”

“ _Did he now_ ” Will snorted. When he made no sign of verbalising one, the server gave the smallest of bows, lightly sliding back the door. The latch had almost clicked in place before Will rose to his feet, hovering a palm to pause the man.

Tipping his satchel where his heels had rested moments before, Will gathered his notebook, scraping a leaf from the middle. Unhooking his pen from the front of his cardigan, he removed the lid with his teeth.

_Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing._   
_Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing_   
_A flowery band to bind us to the earth,_   
_Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth_

His scribble less tamed with each line, Will finished with a vigorous flourish, folding it in two before the words had time to dry. The server accepted the paper, and Will ushered him out before he had time to change his mind.

Well, now he definitely wasn’t going to sleep.

Pacing back and forth, Will dimmed the lights. When the flickering countryside became no more visible through the grainy window, he reached for the liquor instead, letting his thoughts wash dark with the brandy.

It helped.

Slipping out into the narrow passageway, Will looked up and down the train, trying to remember where cabin seven was. When he did, he set forth in the complete opposite direction.

A shame it hadn’t been the other way round, really. Instead of the late-night brasserie, his stroll took him all the way to the smoking car, the air dusted coarse with lingering tobacco. Still. He wasn’t there for the sake of fresh air, he was there to make sure he wasn’t _any_ place where he might _possibly_ run into-

“May I offer you a cigar, Professor Graham?”

Will whipped around. Hannibal gave a conciliatory smile, perhaps regretting startling him.

“You may _offer_ , but I don’t smoke” Will tried. He kept his eyes fixed on Hannibal’s, entirely avoiding noticing that he seemed to be wearing some sort of sleepwear, garnished with a heavy blue robe. Somehow, it still looked no less formal than the customary tie and blazer.

“Neither do I” Hannibal measured a glance toward the carriage, dissecting the armchairs and ashtrays like they belonged in an exhibition. “But I _can_ , if the novelty of the occasion warrants it.”

“And does a trip to Cambridge warrant it?” Will wished he had brought his drink, if only for something to do with his hands. The idea of the cigarette waxed in appeal by the second.

“It doesn’t.” Hannibal made no effort to slouch at the window nor fumble his pockets. He stood steady and at ease, entirely comfortable in his embroidered pyjamas. “But a chance rendezvous on route to such a place might.”

“I run a monthly seminar there” Will hurried, gritting his jaw to counter any further defensive remarks.

“And I am attending on behalf of the University Debating Team” Hannibal nodded, curious. “A chance encounter indeed.”

“Yes.” Will allowed. He considered thanking Hannibal for the brandy, but the sophomore hadn’t made the slightest acknowledgement that the exchange even occurred.

And then there was the matter of the poetry.

Will gave a soft hum, trying to clear his throat. “Well. I wish you the best of luck for the tournament. Cambridge has had us by the throat for years.”

“And with good reason” Hannibal agreed. “Though I can’t say I’m not thankful for whatever complacencies may accompany such a long-held title.”

“Nor I” Will laughed. His boyhood rivalry held fast, when all much else seemed to be slipping away. “Good night, Hannibal.”

If Will felt slightly unsteady on finally closing the latch on his cabin, it had nothing to do with secondary cigar smoke. He was pleased to see the staff had been round to remake the seats to a bed, less pleased when he noticed they seemed to have moved Hannibal’s note.

Until he noticed a new one. Right beside the book of Keats.

_And such too is the grandeur of the dooms_   
_We have imagined for the mighty dead;_   
_All lovely tales that we have heard or read:_   
_An endless fountain of immortal drink,_   
_Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink._

_Good night, Professor._

_-_


	5. Dance at the Disco

With the staff common room at his back, the steps headlining at his feet, Will took a wide stumble, nearly dropping his stout. It was only his third. When had he become such a lightweight?

 _Since my social life could be summarised in a single start-of-semester kick-off_ , Will grimaced.

Turning around, he recovered himself with a dramatic bow, polishing off the last of the Guinness as his colleagues threw him a salute. He wouldn’t hear the end of it otherwise- the professoriate were no better than the old boy’s rugby club in that regard.

Hands shrugged into his coat pockets, Will reasoned his head would probably thank him for taking the scenic route to the taxi stand. Vetoing the lawn shortcut for the path round the Medical Sciences courtyard, Will sorely regretted the decision when he found himself squarely at the centre of what seemed to be some sort of first-term streaking tradition.

Keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the standstone as the naked freshmen bolted past, the bubbling disco music made it clear enough that things were only getting started on the student side of the University.

Though, perhaps not for some.

Like the makeshift mirror balls and hire-a-jukebox, the silhouette at the edge of the crowd looked somewhat out of place.

It struck Will as a curious thing, watching Hannibal before he knew he was being watched. He stood with a manner so completely unperturbed, content and relaxed… it was in those few seconds that Will saw just how very _still_ Hannibal could be.

“Waiting for someone to ask you to dance?” Will raised an eyebrow, hardly disappointed to be the one to take the sophomore by surprise for once.

“Are you offering, Professor?” Hannibal gave a small dip of his head, extending his palm.

“What? Oh, pardon, no, I just meant to… sorry, it was a-”

The corners of Hannibal’s mouth pulled further and further upward, and Will was let off the hook as he finally grinned.

Warmth rising from his collar, Will imagined if the student did indeed own an expression that steered toward guilty, this might come close.

“Well. In that case, since you didn’t ask…” Hannibal twitched a nod toward the roll-out checkerboard floor. For all its shabby gaudiness, there was still something vaguely charming about the whole setup. “…shall I?”

Will’s response fell somewhere between a chuckle and a snort, a good deal louder than intended. He might have been a little tipsy, but he didn’t need a polaroid of himself breaking out Saturday Night Fever to prove it.

“Definitely not.”

Hannibal’s innocuous shrug seemed to suggest he very well thought Will was on the verge of changing his mind.

Will cleared his throat. He most certainly wasn’t.

“Besides… what makes you think I can dance?”

“What makes you think you can’t?” Hannibal fetched a coin from his blazer pocket, a step toward the flashing music box.

Will’s feet may as well have been cemented to the ground.

“I mean, I’m sure I _have_. I’m sure I _did_ …” the tie-dyed blur of his own after-hours college experience didn’t serve Will well enough to recollect a specific occasion. “I’m sure I _would_ …”

As the words lost their footing, Hannibal slipped the penny into the side of the machine, smiling as he read the selection. Will’s throat strangled in dread. _Please not Dancing Queen, please not Rock Lobster, please not Stayin’ Alive, please not…_

Will was almost relieved when he heard the opening piano notes of Patti Smith’s _‘Because the Night’_.

Hannibal reached his hand a second time, gentle. “I’m sure I would too.”

Will stood frozen, the opening lines of the song lapping somewhere in between the voice urging him to take it.

 _Take me now baby here as I am_  
_Pull me close, try and understand_  
_Desirous hunger is the fire I breathe_  
_Love is a banquet on which we feed._

It was a great song really. A classic. Slightly odd lyrics, but excellent harmonies.

And Hannibal’s hand was still outstretched.

And Will… just _couldn’t_.

He saw only a flicker of regret in Hannibal’s eyes as he withdrew, before the understanding smile returned. “Perhaps on another occasion.”

Will gave a curt nod, then paced brusquely away. His steps matched the beat of the lyrics, leading him as quickly as possible from the courtyard.

_Come on now try and understand  
The way I feel when I'm in your hands…_

Fists clenched and jaw gritted firm, Will halted mid-stride. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Hannibal hadn’t moved an inch.

Will turned on his heel, storming back with every ounce of the same determination with which he had left. He raised a palm to Hannibal, eyes fixed pointedly down.

“Here. Take this.”

This time, the sophomore did actually look surprised. He stared at whatever Will was supposedly offering him.

“May I ask…. what it is?”

“It’s an air guitar, what does it look like?” Will managed. If he had felt flushed before, he was positively on the verge of passing out.

And no more so than when Hannibal took the invisible guitar strap and slung it over his shoulder, raising his fingers to the fretboard. He looked at the empty space almost curiously, as if trying to find a polite way of asking if Will had tuned it in advance.

“Well. I do hope you brought another. I’ll need an accompaniment.”

“Already on it.”

Swallowing, Will pulled the second non-existent instrument from his back, widening his stance as the song rounded to the chorus. Almost eye to eye to the sophomore, he felt more like he was facing up to battle than a rock ballad. And that was before he suddenly remembered how many times he had sung Patti Smith in the car.

_Oh god, the lyrics._

It was too late. Will launched into his best rendition at about the same time as every student on the disco floor started yelling the familiar verse at the top of their lungs.

 _Because the night, belongs to lovers,_  
_Because the night, belongs to lust,_  
_Because the night, belongs to lovers,_  
_Because the night, belongs to us!_

Hannibal matched his playing every step of the way, eyes sparkling as Will fought to keep up. As the song exploded into the solo, Will pulled the guitar head wildly up to his chest, improvising a jump in the air. Not to be outdone, Hannibal threw himself to his knees, giving a theatrical jerk of his head as he arched toward the sky.

“Here!” he shouted, freeing a hand to throw something in Will’s direction.

Stumbling backward, Will mimed a lucky catch. “What is it?”

“An air-microphone, what does it look like?” Hannibal grinned, hair spilled across his features.

“The song’s almost over” Will laughed in return.

“Just in time then” Hannibal twisted to his feet.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Will took a deep breath. He could barely hear his own voice over the stereo, let alone Hannibal’s.

 _Because tonight, there are two lovers,_  
_If we believe in the night we trust,_  
_Because the night, belongs to lovers,_  
_Because the night, belongs to us..._

Will risked a peek at Hannibal.

Hannibal caught it. He’d never looked away.

It was then that Will realised he was still looking at the Hannibal who didn’t know he were being watched. As if, for only that second, he really were as pleased and utterly content as he always seemed. And Will were the only person in the room who saw. And Hannibal were the only person who saw him back.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can listen to Patti Smith’s ‘Because the Night’ [here!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0brHGJ6xqbk) :0))


	6. A Midsummer Night’s Dream

_The course of true love never did run smooth._

Will very nearly didn’t see the envelope. An engraved ivory monarch sheet, the creamy glint of it signifying a cotton fibre flat-print. He hadn’t seen anything like it since he received his offer of tenure. And even that, he suspected, had been a thermographic. Collecting the unexpected card from its position at the windowsill, Will ran his letter opener beneath the careful seal.

_Dear Professor Graham,_

_As I recollect, you were once a seasoned participant in the Oxford Student Theatre Society. In particular, your performance in A Midsummer Night’s Dream received outstanding reviews in the University newsletter, and the production extended several weeks as a result. As it has come to my attention that this marvellous play now returns to the Society’s spring season, I hoped to extend you an invitation to reprise the fun and folly at opening night._

_With best regards,_

_Hannibal Lecter_

Tipping the envelope upside down, the ticket that fluttered to Will’s desk was nearly as pink as his cheeks. _‘As I recollect’ indeed._ Will certainly had no recollection of sharing his misadventures on the stage with the sophomore; much less the fact that his performance as Puck had garnered far more attention from the student press than it warranted.

The University annuals however, bore the details in all their black and white glory, and Will cringed to imagine Hannibal having come across them.

Decisive, Will stuffed the letter into his top draw, only to take it out seconds later. What if a visiting colleague happened to be looking for a spare pen, or a mint? That wasn’t the sort of correspondence he could just leave lying around. Will crumpled it into his jacket pocket instead.

He managed to pack his satchel, don his gloves and scarf, file the day’s documents, even lock the office door on the way out…

Before the envelope was in his hands again.

And he was staring at the ticket, dated this evening.

And walking in the exact opposite direction to which he intended.

-

 _Things base and vile, holding no quantity,_  
_Love can transpose to form and dignity._  
_Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,_  
_And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind._  
_Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste;_  
_Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste._

Already well into the first scene, Will almost had to bribe the ushers to let him in. He was sure they regretted it as he made his way down to the front row, wincing as he seemed to tread on one squeaky floorboard after the other.

Thanking his lucky stars his seat was on the aisle, Will finally allowed himself to exhale on taking it. Hannibal offered a warm smile, looking no less disrupted than if they were crossing paths at a garden party. He handed Will a program, his own still held in his lap.

“Hermia and Lysander are just discussing the trials that must be faced by those who are in love.”

“I’m quite familiar, as it happens,” Will gave a dry laugh, trying to turn it to a cough as he received several glares from the surrounding audience.

“I’m glad you could make it, Professor.”

Hannibal’s tone came at barely a whisper, yet no small degree of sincerity shadowed the words. Eyes fixed on the stage, Will felt the corners of his mouth edging slowly upward.

“Perhaps in return, you might consider… oh, I don’t know, _never mentioning my thespian exploits again?_ ”

“Upon my soul, I will speak not a word of it.” Hannibal reached toward Will’s program. Pencil in hand, he leant his wrist upon Will’s thigh, etching soft against the back page.

_To anyone but you, that is._

Will snorted, swallowing another apology left and right as the moment came in a rather ill-timed silence.

 _For you, in my respect, are all the world;_  
_then how can it be said I am alone,_  
_when all the world is here to look on me?_

“One of my favourite lines,” Will allowed, feeling a swell of nostalgia in his chest despite himself.

“I’ll follow thee and make a heaven of hell, to die upon the hand I love so well.”

Will flinched toward Hannibal, eyebrows raised high.

“The verse ahead. I couldn’t help but reread the original text this afternoon.”

“Ah. Yes. Of course.” Will shuffled the scarf at his neck.

Trying his best not to observe the fact that the chosen Puck for the production bore a striking resemblance to his twenty-something-years-younger self, he fancied the theatre hadn’t changed much with the times either. Noting the thought for the intermission, Will stole a last glance toward Hannibal. And stared still.

Far from his own fidgety and distracted patronage, the student’s eyes had glazed over, watering at the stage in rapture. It was strangely moving, seeing him so entranced by the performance. In the darkness, a single tear slid over Hannibal’s cheekbone. It traced a line to the edge of his jaw, fading toward his collar.

Will blinked, his own throat tightening. He felt a sudden urge to take Hannibal’s hand, reach for him in some way. Pressing his palms tightly together, Will wedged them firmly between his knees just to be safe. It wasn’t until Hannibal turned to him that Will tore his attention aside, feeling very much like he was intruding on something obscenely private.

“Sorry-”

“Don’t be,” Hannibal murmured.

Will flushed with guilt. To his surprise, a soft smile had caught at Hannibal’s lips, something close to reassuring. He made no move to wipe his cheek, and once again Will found himself aching to brush his own thumb there in place. He glared at his lap, feeling no less foolish than tragic, ever more mortal.

Hannibal was completely at ease. Gently, he reached for Will’s hand, taking it across into his own lap.

“I’m alright, Professor.”

Will couldn’t look. He couldn’t breathe. All he felt was the student’s hand, cool against his warmer one, supple fingers, steady grip.

“You’re right there…” Will muttered, strangled words toward the stage. The forest. The lovers. The magic. The mayhem.

_I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was._

“And I’m right here.”

-


	7. Between the Lines

The cricket match had been cancelled. It had rained all night, and thanks to another blockage in the new irrigation system, the upper oval had been transformed into something of a glutinous substance. Will and his second-newest pair of brogues had found that out the hard way. Sighing, he reasoned cutting through the university gardens couldn’t do any more harm. Besides, the coffee cart would still be up and running, even if it was first thing on a Saturday morning.

-

The coffee cart was shut, locked and bolted.

Swallowing a frown, Will redirected his path toward the gazebo, determined not to be near so soggy nor grumpy as he felt. Fishing a crumpled notebook from his satchel, he unhooked his thinnest fountain pen from his front pocket; a less than subliminal attempt in taking his intended exercise as lightly as possible. It didn’t, however, stop him from meticulously positioning the writing instrument between his thumb and forefinger, replicating the posture shown in the _Guide to Still Life_ precisely.

Crouching next to the shelter, he squinted at a trail of ivy that seemed to strangle round its corners, weaving in and out of the wooden lattice. A practical subject, in terms of contrasting shape and dimension. Carefully, Will pressed the nib of the pen to the paper, watching the ink spider outward as he hesitated over what section to begin.

“The middle,” a voice suggested, climbing over his thoughts.

“Good grief!” Will stumbled backward, overcompensated and landed with both knees in the grass.

“I beg your pardon, Professor Graham.” Hannibal skirted the frame, looking, to Will’s chagrin, far more concerned than amused. “I presumed you had seen me in the gazebo. My apologies.”

“No, no need,” Will regathered his bearings, swiftly brushing at his trousers whilst Hannibal reached for the fallen pen. Peering at the railing, Will was unsure exactly _where_ he would have seen the sophomore, considering it barely reached his waist.

“I was lying on the ground,” Hannibal volunteered, dipping a hand for Will’s notebook too. “The ceiling offers an appropriation of a panel within the Sistine Chapel, which I daresay might interest you as a study.”

He nodded toward the collected papers as he spoke, Will countering with a reluctant wince.

“Ah. Well. Interest me it might, but I think I may have to master a steady line first.”

Head tilted to a question, Hannibal hovered the book a fraction higher.

“Be my guest,” Will mumbled, assuming a polite skim through the pages would quell any further curiosity on the matter. It was with rising warmth that he realised Hannibal was surveying his haphazard scribbles with consideration, occasionally pausing to brush a thumb against the ink lines, lost in thought.

“These are wonderful,” he murmured, words barely catching on his lips.

“Oh lord. No. Hardly.” Will laughed, louder than he intended. “Just trying to revive an old hobby. Possibly wiser left in the past.”

“That would be a great shame,” Hannibal frowned, sincere, then raised a glance to the roof of the gazebo. “With your pièce de résistance still to come.”

“My _pièce de résistance_ ,” Will chuckled, taking a step inside the structure. When he saw the collection of charcoals scattered over the floorboards, he damn-near wished his notes had landed in the mud with the rest of him. “My goodness. Hannibal. Did you sketch all these this morning?”

“Yes,” Hannibal knelt beside the works, gathering them aside without ceremony. “I did, however, arrive very early.”

“Don’t try to make me feel better,” Will grinned, hardly ready to admit it was working. Steeling himself for whatever loss to his pride would surely ensue, he sat cross legged, regaling his book and pen back to his lap. “Alright. What would you do first?”

“If it were me,” Hannibal said gently, “I would start by seeing it.”

Will waited, assuming there was more instruction to follow. Instead, Hannibal eased himself to the ground, resting his head against the bend of his arm as he stared at the ceiling. Will attempted to achieve a similar state of observation by craning his neck as far back as feasible. It had the dual effect of making his eyes incredibly watery, his muscles uncomfortably stiff. Clearing his throat, he took a deep breath, then finally lay down with much the same expression he might make on diving into the lap lane in winter.

“Adam and Eve’s expulsion from the Garden of Eden,” Will said after a while, moved by the sheer complexity of it. “An interesting commission, for the Oxford Botanical Gardens.”

“Quite appropriate, given the theme of acquiring new knowledge. However dangerous such a passage may be.”

“A view I’m sure is shared by the College Council,” Will mused.

The corners of Hannibal’s eyes twitched unreadable, his chest barely rising with each inhale. Slowly, he turned toward Will, who remained steadfastly fixated on the ceiling.

“I take it you-”

“Appreciate the nuance of their decision. Correct,” Will finished, an eyebrow raised to match the turn of his mouth. “I only hope the groundskeepers never happen to look up.”

Curving a smile, Hannibal shuffled an elbow to his side, spreading his own sketchpad in the space between them.

“You’d be surprised how little anyone does.”

With the lightest of pencil strokes, he divided the paper where the tree and horizon would fall.

“I wouldn’t have thought you one for drafting proportions.” Will chewed at the lid of his pen, tucking it back into his jacket as soon as he noted it.

“I’m not,” Hannibal measured, considering. “But I’m of the opinion that you prefer new experiences within predetermined boundaries.”

Pen navigating the paper, Will paused.

“I see.”

“Please feel free to correct me, if I am mistaken.”

Pinching the tip of his tongue between his teeth, Will instead ploughed his concentration into the outline of the tree, letting the silence speak for him. Entirely comfortable with the arrangement, Hannibal absentmindedly coiled a serpent around its branches, smiling as the centrepiece flourished over the breadth of the page.

“I’ll try my hand at Eve next,” Will hummed, not unhappy with their efforts.

“Then I shall attempt the Archangel Michael.”

“You’ll be drawing upside down.”

Hannibal granted what Will felt was an almost fond smirk. He was, after all, speaking to someone who apparently found recreating that same artwork whilst strung from a rooftop no trouble at all.

“It’s the Garden of Eden,” was what Hannibal chose to respond with, already making headway with the endeavour. “There is no upside down.”

Will snorted, his hand far less shaky for allowing himself to relax.

“That sounds like the kind of terrible joke I would make.”

“Indeed.” Hannibal flicked him a glance, ever so slightly pleased with himself.

“ _Professor Graham?_ ”

Will sat upright with a start, the familiar tone of his colleague not half as dreadful as the rest of what ran through his mind. He scrambled to his feet.

“Hm. Yes. Ah. Elliot. Good morning.” Will coughed into his fist, looking to his left and right as if he were somehow in the middle of asking for directions.

“Caught sight of you heading this way after the washout. Thought to congratulate you on the publication. I’ve had mine rejected by the same journal enough times to know its worth.”

“Right, right,” Will rocked back and forth on his heels. “Cheers. Well. Always glad to lend a second opinion, if…”

He trailed off as the lecturer arched an eyebrow, seemingly optimistic that such a discussion might take place sooner rather than later.

“Please,” Hannibal interjected, calmly leaning back from the piece. “I’ve kept you long enough, Professor. I think I’ve got the hang of it now.”

Will blinked, taking a moment to register what the student had actually said.

“Yes. Good... to hear. I’ll leave you to it then.”

When he didn’t move an inch, Hannibal retrieved his satchel, the notebook and pen tucked neatly back inside. Will stared blankly, feet still stuck to the floor.

“I’ll be sure to run the finished product by you,” Hannibal prompted. “Or even follow your lead and attempt a submission to the student bulletin.”

“Ha. Of course. I encourage you.” Will blinked, recollecting himself for a farewell. “I’ll be on the lookout for it.”

-

It was weeks later when a stack of journals were thumped down on his desk, along with a sullen note from Elliot explaining that despite the sound advice, his fourth letter of rejection was the most scathing yet. Recalling the somewhat abysmal paper, Will still couldn’t help feel a twang of sympathy for the young lecturer. His own mail tray had once been lined with such letters, some of which he had kept as affectionate bookmarks for his more well-cited chapters.

The reminiscence was quickly forgotten as he noted the quarterly at the top of the pile- _The_ _Oxford Review._

“Good _grief_ ,” Will breathed, the fully realised sketch staring him back from the cover. Sifting through the pages, he stopped at the entry for student submissions.

_The Tree of Life and Knowledge- interpretation by Anonymous_

“ _Anonymous_ ,” Will muttered to himself, unable to take his eyes from the pages. Leaning in until all else blurred away, he could just make out the thinnest of scrawls in the very left hand corner.

 

_WG+HL_

_For times when the coffee cart is closed,_

_And all those when you wish to look up._

_-_


End file.
